by Michael Seese
Energized and enervated after a week away from the hectic Manhattan life, super agent Janet Reid tossed out another contest.
As always, use the following:
in a 100-word short story. For Steve Forti, include the word "pneumo." I'm not Steve Forti, but I did it anyway.
I hit on the idea of a sentence that used "pithy," but meant "pity." While driving to pick up my oldest from paintball, I hit upon the idea for the story I call "Omelet."
I cleared my throat.
"It softens easier to wallow in self pithy, than to face one's demons. Such is the fatal flaw of the young Danish prince, an inert introvert lamenting his existential existence, whimpering like a muffled pulpy, too timid to bark or bite. Alas, poor Yorick! I pneumo— "
"That's enough." I'd come to learn that Professor Cole's arched eyebrow heralded the arrival of a parable posed as a question. "Do you care to explain?"
"I dictated my term paper. I guess Google Voice never read Hamlet."
"You gave me an F. So the point is mute."
And, true story, in her column the day before, Janet talked about using the "right word." I meant to, but didn't get around to, posting my comment:
"To be honest, I consider using the wrong word to be my style."
I regret not getting it done.